Tom Whitehouse, my sweet and eggplant shaped grandfather peacefully passed away in hospital today in Petersfield, one day before his 93rd birthday.
He was a sweet little man with more wrinkles than a bloodhound, long sleve shirts buttoned to the top, glasses thinker than the bottom of milk bottles, and a voice smaller than a shout – yet louder than a whisper. My granddad was a rockstar of an old man.
Whenever people would ask about my granddad I would tell them that my Tom had two identical black Casio watches, one on each wrist. They would stare at me for a moment – wondering why. Thinking up long explanations, balancing delicate psychoanalytical diagnoses, or making connections between my granddad and I. Ultimately asking “Why?” as I had when I noticed the two watches 10 years ago. Tom had turned to me beaming.
“You see, I have these two programs that I like to watch on the tele. The left one’s alarm goes off for the first show and the right for the second. That way when I’m sleeping I’ll be sure to watch my programs. Would you like one? I’ve got another 6.”
I wish him the best of luck, wherever he next calls home… I hope they have black Casio watches.